


Here To Stay

by yehetter



Category: VIXX
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Asexual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-21 13:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14285610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yehetter/pseuds/yehetter
Summary: Relationships are a weird thing. It depends on the sets of individuals and their closeness. Wonshik and Emory met during her exchange progra, mand they became friends quickly. Sometime after living apart, he gets her to travel across the world to see him. It might’ve proved something to him. After the promotions, he understands if he could visit her. Later, Emory moves, and it enables a world of possibilities.





	1. Keeping A Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emory sat up, regretting it greatly as the room spun around her. She groaned. “Where are we going?”
> 
> “Elsewhere.”

In the afternoon Emory along with other students was on her way to class. Smiling at her classmates, she sat in her usual seat and waited for the professor to arrive. An old man rushed through the doors apologizing for being late, Emory looked at her watch, Professor Rodríguez was in fact, in time. The smart-watch lit up, and her phone buzzed letting her know that various unanswered messages where sent to her. 

Emory frowned at the phone reading the random messages Wonshik was sending her, it was confusing to see him trying to get attention at an ungodly hour—for him at least. Their time zones were opposite, with that in mind, she stole a glance at the professor fuzzing on the computer. She began typing a message to reply, but apparently, Wonshik was impatient, so he called her instead. Emory chuckled, earning a questioning look from Isabelle, her friend, and seatmate.

“I’m gonna take this call. I hope this dumbass won’t take long.”

Isabelle nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’ll share my notes with you either way.”

Emory smiled gratefully at Isabelle, stood up and answered her vibrating phone right away. “Give me a break, Mr. Big Idol, I’m exiting the classroom.”

Emory could hear Wonshik complaining about her obnoxious nickname, but soon he was laughing which meant that he didn’t mind at all. On her way out, she noticed the glare the professor gave her before rolling his eyes and give her, a grad student, permission to mind her own business. She appreciated that he wasn’t sticking his nose where it didn’t belong just because she was the daughter of a department director.

“From the sudden silence, I can assume you’re already in the hallway.”

“Yes, I’m already out. You must thank my responsible ass for being here every day, if not the professor would’ve embarrassed me in front of the whole class. Then, I would’ve been obligated to confess that my celebrity friend is calling me from his, gasp, personal number! I don’t think they would believe me and he’ll refer me to a psychiatrist, and I believe that my beloved father would not like that,” she rambled and took a deep breath. “Anyway. Hello, my friend, how are you and what do you want?”

He chuckled. “Sorry, it’s just that I missed you and wanted to see you and I don’t know…have a meal?”

She smiled at his obvious avoiding of her harsh manners. It was shocking to hear that he wanted to eat with a person that lives in another country. Well, where she lives it’s an excuse of land on the map, just a dot on the world, but this was her home, and he had a massive part of a continent as his. Emory missed him too, and she just hadn’t had the chance to visit him during holidays, those days were for her family gatherings and such.

“First, you’re a busy man with your idol and composer schedule, that is without including your solo career. Second, we’re on different continents, in case you’ve forgotten. Third, I’m still studying, working on my thesis and I’ve got a job.”

“That’s why I bought you a ticket. It’s supposed to be waiting in your mail by now.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, how can this guy say those things so easily as if it’s like he had bought her a coffee or even simpler, a bottle of water. 

“You can’t just do that! You’re wasting your money on me unnecessarily. And, what if I have something else to do?”

“You’ll cancel your plans because you love me that much. And plans? That’s a lame excuse. You know that your definition of fun is reading and writing while you have coffee and listen to music.”

She glared at the wall in front of her imagining his tall frame in front of her, repeating the same words with an innocent expression

“I wish we were FaceTiming instead of a normal call so I could glare at you because you chose to talk about my life just like that. I have to plan my classes too, being an elementary school teacher isn’t as easy as you think it is.”

“You’re doing great to society, you’re helping to mold little kids who will later grow into respectable adults,” he said earnestly, without a hint of mockery which was okay with her. He had never made fun of her job. He just thought that the basic stuff that she taught as an English teacher was easy. Not like he was in a place to criticize her when his skills in said language aren’t the best per se, then again, it wasn’t as if he didn’t make an effort.

“What are you doing awake at this hour?” She chose to change the topic; her maternal side awakened in preoccupation for his health. Also, she was doing great at evading his flattery which was better than accepting it. 

“I’m not making fun of you for finding pleasurable the simple things in life, like teaching English to bilingual kids, you geek. And I’m awake because I’m revising my songs in progress,” he sounded somber, and suddenly serious.

“You should sleep some more. You already look sleepy and tired naturally.”

“I sleep during the day, from and to schedules, you know how it is.”

“How was the concert? I saw posts everywhere, how’s the mosquito that got into your eye,” she teased. Emory knew well enough that Wonshik loved his fans with all of him, and him being emotional got her soft too because she knew all the hardships he’s gone through.

“The mosquito? I killed it of course, for making me cry twice on stage. Why are we talking about this when you comforted me a week ago?” he almost whined, but with his voice, it was hard to tell. Emory doubted that Wonshik was able to kill a mosquito with his perpetual fear of bugs and insects, but she let it go. The topic of him crying should be forgotten for the time being. “Emory, I already bought the ticket and reserved you a hotel room under your name, you cannot back out now.”

She sighed, he worked hard to make his money, and he is spending a generous amount on her, his mere college friend that’s probably responsible for the A’s he got while she was there…

“Fine, but I’m paying for the rest of the stuff since you already took care of my travel expenses. I guess I’ll have to call in sick tomorrow…”

“Don’t you work only in the morning?”

Emory nodded even if Wonshik wasn’t able to see her. It was an exclusive agreement she arranged with the school administration since she was still technically a student.

“I hate that my schedule is the same monotonous thing and you know it by heart now. You should keep me updated with your schedule in return.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” he said, sounding hurt. This week Wonshik was free thanks to his successful concert. He had things to do here and there, hence him being trapped in his studio to get on with the songs for VIXX’s comeback, but he was free nevertheless.

“Don’t sound so wounded. You’re the one who's at fault. But I can’t blame you since you might spoil things for the comeback if you kept me updated as much as I do.”

“Who said there was a comeback?”

“more prominent almost a year since Shangri-La,” she reasoned.

“That doesn’t mean a thing, when I get the news I’ll let you know,” he said knowing well enough that it wasn’t true. “But thanks for the support, my number one fan.”

“Ew, no,” she feigned disgust. “Your number one fans are your members, why would I be your number one fan? You’re clumsy, and soft when you look manly and menacing.” _You’re too tall and too good for your good, the world doesn’t deserve you,_ Emory wanted to add, but feared that it would give Wonshik an insight of her mind. She sincerely cared, she had let him know between the lines of her sarcastic banters. 

“I hate you.”

“I love you too, Wonshik. I’ll see you tomorrow!” Yes, tomorrow for him, for her it would technically be the day after tomorrow. Oh, what a long trip awaited her. It would be worth it; she was going to see Wonshik after two years.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

Wonshik hung up, and she went back to class, half an hour or so after, to take notes for the remaining time of course. Emory set up a reminder to call in sick when she got to LA which would be probably too late to notify her boss. She wouldn’t have enough time in the airport since she had to take another plane right away.

 ~

Emory got home, checked her mail and as promised, there was a card sent by Kim Jiwon, Emory smiled, _the ever so cautious man_. She opened the yellow envelope, and there were her plane tickets along with a hotel keycard. Honestly, it was a little too much, but Emory finally got the chance to go to Korea even if it was for a couple of days. Her flight would leave in a few hours, Emory dialed Beatriz, her stepmother to see if she could take her to the airport. Sadly, Bea couldn’t because she was on her way home already, stuck in traffic, she told Emory to contact her dad and maybe, just maybe, he could take her. 

But Emory knew better not to, and as she told her stepmother, it was just a weekend visit. She texted Brian about her issue; he texted right back, almost immediately, saying to take a goddamned shower and pack already. Emory didn’t have to be bossed around by her best friend, so she did and prepared quickly.

The sun had gone down an hour ago, and even if there was a massive flow in the avenue, she was excited about all of it. The day-long flights didn’t seem tiresome anymore. Brian, on the other hand, had been quiet and pensive behind the steering wheel, but Emory ignored his shifty attitude. He gave her a side hug from his seat as he bid her goodbye and wished her a safe trip.

As Emory boarded the plane, she received two text messages from Laura and Sofie, her best friends. They said to bring back souvenirs along with details that explained why Emory would jump in a plane the second her _friend_ told her to visit. Emory wanted to fight back, but neither of her friends knew that she and Wonshik were good friends. She had kept it a secret. 

A small smile of anticipation of his warm, contagious smiles and his attention on her broke as she sat in her seat. It’s something she had to bear without for these years. Close enough were their video calls, texts and whatnot that kept them close to the real thing. Distance and time zones vanishing with the constant communication. Now, for a day, it wouldn’t be the same.

_Your manuscript,_ Emory scolded herself. She made annotations here and there before she read it once again. Now she could hand it over to her dad who’d help her editing. If Iván liked the manuscript, he’d help her book get published. The only reason she was currently in grad school when she was already a teacher and had a secured position at her school, it was for her father. Iván had told her that writers did not have it easy, so she studied education in a higher level to be like her father. Being a professor is her backup plan in case the writing thing didn’t turn out for her. Also, it brought home a monthly source of income.

 ~

Emory reminisced how she met the guy why she’s traveling across the world. It had been the first week of her exchange program, and she felt like people would stare at her or something. Emory brushed that thought off since she wasn’t the only foreigner in that classroom. When she saw this tall guy with a cap pulled low, shadowing his eyes and a face mask protecting his mouth and nose, she feared for a moment. Emory had been well aware that this style was nothing to be afraid of, it was something fashionable here.

He had removed the cap and mask when the professor entered the lecture hall. Accidentally, her eyes had followed the movement of the guy sitting beside her who turned out to be Wonshik. Never in her life would’ve Emory adverted her gaze faster than just this once. She reminded her brain to keep her breathing steady and her eyes from watching him. Wonshik deserved to be like as any other student, no idol background whatsoever. 

It had been all very coincidental that she preferred to sit in the very front, and Wonshik chose to sit beside her the few times he went to class due to his artistic license. Emory would sometimes steal glances at him, like a moth drawn to fire it was impossible to ignore him no matter how hard she tried. It felt unreal that someone like him was seated beside her. Wonshik’s presence was almost suffocating. _Calm the fuck down!_ _Pendeja._

He was in his world paying attention to the lecture, proving himself a better student than his members accounted him. Emory looked at Wonshik again, tentatively. What would he think if she presented herself? Would that make her seem pushy? Even so, Wonshik was there to study, not make friends.

Wonshik showed Emory otherwise he was shy but naturally friendly. Around the third time, he came to class, the weather had gotten colder, and that’s when he took the initiative to talk to her. 

“I’m Kim Won Shik,” he had presented himself. Emory had to fight her inner fangirl to not squeal at his adorable, uncertain English. It was okay; she had to give him extra credit for the effort. Emory had been secretly expecting him to come back for the last week and he talked to her. It was a good sign, she hoped.

“Emory Bright Méndez,” she said quietly, mentioning both of her last names following her culture.

 

Emory watched outside the window of the cab as the sun slowly rises, illuminating the day. She had missed this, watching the sun rays escape through space between the buildings. It was a magical aspect of a big city like Seoul. Back home, Emory could take a short trip to Ocean Park, a beautiful beach and appreciate the sunrise along with the soothing sound of the crashing waves in the shore. Just thinking about it cast warmness through her which was much needed in the cold weather here.

“Do you visit often?” The driver asked, trying to make small talk. There were about fifteen minutes worth of road for them to reach the hotel.

“I used to live here. I might move back during the summer.”

The man frowned. “Isn’t it too hot in the summer?”

Emory chuckled, she lived in the fucking Isla del Encanto better known as Puerto Rico, she could handle the weather. “I don’t think so.”

“You’re a little odd. But, welcome back.”

“Thank you.”

Once she was in her hotel room, she took a warm shower and threw herself into the big bed. The room had been bigger than what she had in mind then again; it was a little too much. She wasn’t in a place to scold Wonshik _again_ for spending too much money in her. The jet lag had gotten the best of Emory and had her surrender to her tired body throwing herself in bed. At least Wonshik wouldn’t be awake for the next five hours, she hoped.

 

Her damn vibrating phone woke her up, she grabbed the offending piece of technology and answered it, feeling her internal clock screaming at her for paying attention to it.

“Hello?” She asked groggily.

“Aren’t you hungry, sleepyhead?” Wonshik asked, there was a softness in his voice that showed how fond he was of Emory.

She cleared her throat, removing the eye mask that had protected her from the natural light entering the room even when she had closed the curtains. Emory squinted around, looking at her watch, it was midday. 

“I should be sleeping. My watch can prove that it’s two a.m.”

“Have you eaten at all?” He asked again, ignoring her implications that she’d still be sleeping now.

She moved from laying in her stomach to her back, and as she stared at the ceiling, she did feel a little hungry. 

“I could eat something.”

Wonshik laughed. “That’s what I thought. I’ll be there by the time you get ready.”

Emory sat up, regretting it much as the room spun around her. She groaned. “Where are we going?”

“Elsewhere.” _Well_ , that’s vague. 

Emory crawled under the warm cocoon of the sheets to the other end of the bed where her luggage rested. She opened it and got the warmer set of clothes she could find in there. It got her effort to get out of bed to get ready for once, but Emory managed it just fine after having to convince her body. She dug her hands in the pockets of her padded jacket that was warm, but it didn’t make her look too out of place. 

 

A black sedan stopped in front of the hotel, Emory looked up at the tinted windows making out the figure of a masked driver with a cap and sunglasses. He had the sleeves of his jacket rolled up, and the sight of the simple wrist tattoo made her smile and stepped closer to the car. Wonshik pulled the sunglasses down the bridge of his nose enough so that his eyes could meet Emory’s to give her a wink. She laughed and climbed to the passenger’s seat. 

Wordlessly, he signaled at the Starbucks cup in the cup holder and gave her a paper bag with a couple of warm cookies.

“You drive?” It was a rhetorical question since he was driving smoothly. Tentatively, she took a sip of her hot cocoa that helped her warm up from the inside out. 

“I have a license, yes. This is my dad’s car, in case you were wondering.”

“I thought you had turned into a thief and stole the car from one of your fans. Thanks for the cocoa, by the way.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he complained. “Figured you would fancy a little something, warm.”

Emory stared at him, thinking that he looked way suspicious with the cap, the sunglasses and the mask and the car with the tinted windows. He didn’t have anything to hide she believed that his covered face would call more attention than his bare face.

“We’re going to my parents' house; I thought you wanted to see Ongdeongi.”

She smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Mom is preparing us food too.”

“Your mother is what!”

Wonshik spared her a quick glance and focused back to the road once he noticed that she was slightly surprised. Nothing alarming. “She’s cool; she’s my mother. Besides, Jiwon will be there.”

Emory relaxed a little; she could handle parents. She hadn’t expected that from Wonshik since their relationship was just friendly. It was alright; she knew her closest friend’s parents, she just hadn’t got the chance to meet Wonshik’s.

“It’s good to see you,” he said.

She grinned. “Well, that’s great because you flew me thirteen hours to the future.”

He turned to face her at a red light and shook his head. 

“You’re dumb; it is the same what changes is the country we’re at.”

“I know, dummy. It’s good to see you too.”

 

As they got closer to the Kim household, Wonshik removed his face mask making obvious how comfortable he’s in the area of his hometown. He stayed with his cap which he had moved backward and his stylish sunglasses guarding his eyes against the sun. His face was bare; she hadn’t seen him like that in a while. It was the usual, laid-back Wonshik style, the real him. Wonshik parked the car by a modest-looking house, it looked small from the outside, and the pastel blue paint, making it look out of place whereas the other houses shared the same old shades of cream and grays. They got out of the car, and Emory held the urge to hug him in the middle of the sidewalk, public displays of affection are a touchy topic here. _Funny_. She had missed him.

“Wonshik!” Jiwon exclaimed running to hug her older brother. 

Wonshik smiled, it was rare when he and his sister could be this close. He loved her, and he wished that he could be home more often, but that was impossible. He presented Emory to Jiwon, and they smiled at each other exchanging greetings.

“Mom’s in the kitchen, I’ll go get Deongi.”

Emory followed Wonshik to the kitchen where Wonshik’s mother was standing by the stove. His mother turned around and smiled at them.

“Welcome, Emory. Is the temperature alright inside the house?”

“It’s fine, I like the cold,” Emory gave a stink eye to Wonshik. “What did you tell your mother?”

He held his hands up in surrender. “You live in a tropical country; I wanted you to feel comfortable.”

Emory wanted to argue with him, and she knew that it would lead to one of their firing banters. “Oh, so if by any chance you come to Puerto Rico I’ll have to tail you with a personal air conditioner in case you melt?”

Wonshik blushed and shook his head mumbling a no. 

“I’m dead serious. I wouldn’t want you collapsing and fainting because of the heat.” She pictured it, running behind his ass with a rechargeable fan, and him running away just making him sweat more. If he were able to come to her country, she wished that it would be during any other season but summer. 

He sat down at the table and rooted his forehead to the top. Emory chuckled, sitting beside him. Jiwon entered the kitchen with Ongdeongi sleeping in her arms; she offered him to Emory and Emory took him. The dog stirred in his sleep as Emory caressed his head.

“Traitor,” Wonshik mumbled placing his chin in the palm of his hand as he looked around. He closed his eyes and inhaled, smelling the delicious aroma of his mother’s home cooking. 

The siblings set the table as Mrs. Kim served the food. Emory began to stand up, and Mrs. Kim stopped her squeezing her shoulder gently.

“It’s fine, dear; you’re our guest. Stay there taking care of the baby.”

“But, Mrs. Kim—”

“Mom will have a refutation to every argument, Em,” Wonshik said. Emory wasn’t taking a part of a debate against his mother on helping around their house, not Emory’s, yeah, she’s not doing that.

He sat in Emory’s side, taking Ongdeongi from her lap and setting him free in the floor. She pouted at that and Wonshik rolled his eyes at her. Jiwon and Mrs. Kim sat on the other side of the table.

“Let’s eat.”

 

Near the Kim household was a small park with a playground and a vast place for kids, and adults to run and walk around. They walked Ongdeongi there. It barely had any people apart from the group of old ladies marching around. Emory wrapped her arms around her jacket and snuggled into her scarf.

“Remind me to lend you a hoodie.”

“I thought that chivalry was dead~.”

“You’ll get it, eventually.”

She poked his side, he looked at her, and she was smiling easily. 

Shrugging she added, “I don’t want you melting nor freezing. Don’t worry. I can manage.” The temperature was a good twenty degrees less than the typical eighty degrees or more back home. It was chillier, but she could handle it just fine.

He raised his eyebrow, the signature brow thing that he does whenever he’s thinking. 

“Do you want my jacket?”

“Yeah, no. We’re both comfortable, end of the story.” It’s not that kind of situation, let it go, Wonshik.

They stopped walking as the dog smells a tree. “How’s your book in progress?”

Emory’s entire features lightened up, it was as if the cold wasn’t bothering her anymore. Her eyes sparkled, and a smile appeared on her face as she animatedly talked. 

“I’ve finished my last manuscript; now if dad gives me a thumbs up, it’ll hopefully be published. Of course, I have to discuss the cover of the book with Brian and Sofie they said that they would help me with the design.”

“That’s great, Em. I’m proud of you.” Wonshik smiled, hearing her talk about something that she’s genuinely passionate about was refreshing, and it made him happy too.

“Thanks.”

Wonshik fastened his pace as Ongdeongi ran after a pigeon, Emory laughed and walked to the monkey bars. Memories of many years ago recurred her mind, being afraid of it, conquering that fear and falling, breaking her left arm and having a cast. And she did it again, and again, just like any kid. _Oh,_ precious memories.

 

“Would you write a story for me?”

Emory gave him a side glance that was between contemplative and skeptical. It was more the latter than anything. She wasn’t against the idea. She had used some of Wonshik’s personality traits and gave them to one of the characters of another story she’s plotting. He’s someone attractive, you see. The thing is, it wasn't about him per se. 

“It depends on what you mean. A story dedicated to you. A story based on you. Or a story intended just for you to read.”

He sat in the swings that were too short for his long legs, and she followed behind. 

“It doesn’t matter. I think it would be something else if I read one of your things that were, well, for me.”

She pressed her thumb to the home button of her phone unlocking it. Opening up her notes app, she took a glimpse at him. 

“What kind of story do you want?”


	2. Chained Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “See? You’re ours.” Wonshik’s eyes sparkled in the dark, he flicked her wrist. Emory flicked his forehead in return, and ran away from him.
> 
> “Come and get me.”

Emory took in the night lights as she walked to the restaurant near her hotel. Taking her time to walk around, she noticed that not much had changed since the last time. Entering the restaurant, Emory informed the hostess that someone was waiting for her. Emory smiled as she walked down to the private booths, the aroma of the delicious food wafting through the air. When Wonshik saw her, he smiled, he was wearing his mask, but his eyes crinkled giving his happiness away. This time around he hugged her tightly, she’s wary with physical contact on his behalf, but she let him be, clutching him back. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I ordered for you.”

“How can I complain when you’re doing all this for me when I didn’t even ask for it.”

He took a mouthful of his noodles. “It was done with the best intentions.”

“Are you done with your diet?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Not really, I can eat whatever I want as long as I burn it all in the gym.”

She felt so sad about that, she knew that he was eating a painful amount of hard-boiled eggs daily these past few weeks. How can a perfectly fit guy who exercised and danced on a daily basis had to suffer through hunger just to conserve his built body is beyond her. But that’s his profession, and it makes him happy. Now, she wouldn’t mind if he was just flat-bellied like Taekwoon, and he has the same effect Wonshik’s abs have on Starlight. She’s sure that Starlights wouldn’t mind him being healthy rather than starved and uncomfortable.

“You didn’t tell me you got a new tattoo, I had to see it in the teaser photos of Nirvana,” she pouted. 

She thought they had an agreement whenever the other decided to get a tattoo. It’s not like he needs to ask for her permission or anything, but she likes to have an opinion too. That’s what friends are for, right? Maybe she’s just too socially impaired to actually differ what is reality and what’s on her mind. Leaving the unintended philosophical-ness to the side, that tattoo looked great, she just couldn’t find herself admitting it to his face.

“You were studying, I don’t want you to get distracted with my tattoo decision. It is my body. And you already procrastinate for fun as it is, it’s like you search the stress of having to do it all the day before it’s due.”

Says the guy that called her a minute before a class started just to tell her that he missed her, and jump in the first plane to Korea because _I bought you the plane ticket, just like every normal friend would._ She had missed half of said class because of his impatient ass.

“What can I say, I work well under pressure.”

He scrunched his face adorably and she smiled fondly at him, she had missed this. “You’re insane, you study little by little, but when it comes to writing assignments you leave it for later. What kind of nerd are you?”

“You keep at it with the names, do you want me to call you Larva?”

“You’re impossible,” he grumbled.

“There we go again.”

 ~

She was stuck in the practice room in awe, as the members did and redid their choreographies. Emory helped Hakyeon point out what they were doing wrong which gifted her with glares from the members as they started the choreography since the beginning until every member was synchronized with the rest.

Emory couldn’t complain, she was half of the day with them, then they ate, they practiced their English with her, trying with Spanish but failed miserably. Though, Jaehwan managed to say ' _te amo'_ just fine, which meant I love you. It was expected from him, the member in charge of cuteness. It was a lethal weapon.

“We’ve known each other for a while now, how come you’ve never taught us how to salsa dance?” Hakyeon asked.

“Because you’re busy practicing your new choreographies, and retaining the older the older ones. It would be selfish of me to add to the pressure on your muscle memory.”

“Come on! It’ll be fun, we’re bored of practicing the same things on and on.” Jaehwan pouted, grabbing her hands. 

Emory looked at Wonshik as if to decipher if he had told the others that she knew how to salsa dance. How did Hakyeon know? She had automatically started dancing to a salsa song when she heard it, it was pure instinct. Wonshik had asked her to teach him, and she tried, but they were a laughing mess, they had been in his studio and there wasn’t enough space to properly dance. But what were they thinking? That was a music studio, not a dance room.

“Are you seriously going to make us beg?” Wonshik asked standing up. He was doing a great job playing innocent, encouraging her to accept their request. His members followed suit, leaving Emory on the floor looking up to them as they looked taller than ever from this perspective. Damn these sweaty human skyscrapers and their adorable little pouts and begging eyes. 

Emory sighed, pretending that they were annoying, but she was excited to see the final outcome. Her heart beat with expectancy as Wonshik gave her a hand to help her up. The six boys looked at her as she looked for the right words to explain the basics, and the key to following the rhythm in Korean. After a while of her brain having a continuous mind fuck for being confused as it was weird enough to explain something she knew by heart in Spanish let alone English, _but Korean that was another level of fuckery,_ she finally gathered the right words.

“The key to salsa dancing is to keep the rhythm of one, two, three…five, six, seven,” she clapped her hands to the rhythm so they had an idea.

Hongbin raised his hand, to which she raised a brow, he becomes the obedient child when he’s being taught.

“Yes?”

“Where did four and eight go?”

Emory smiled. “Let me teach you the steps, then you’ll get it—it’s hard to explain it with words.”

She counted out loud, her left leg stepped forward and slightly raised her right foot. Then she moved her left leg back to the center and moved her right leg backward slightly raising her left foot. She continued repeating it, so they could see how it was properly done, keeping track of the key she was counting out loud. There was a fluidity in the leg movements that required the entire body to move to the flow.

“See? That’s the male version, but really, the only difference with the female version is that we start with the right foot back first. Now, let’s see what you’ve got, idols.”

“This isn’t a reality show, you’re not funny,” Sanghyuk muttered loudly, but followed the movements she showed them nevertheless. 

She kept doing the basic steps as she corrected the boys, but they looked rather stiff, so she fished her phone from her back pocket, and browsed for an easy song to follow. Emory went to the audio system, plugged in her phone to the aux cord, and let the boys familiarize with the foreign sounds. Trumpets sounded accompanied with various percussion instruments that followed the rhythm she was clapping too, at first it was difficult for them to sort the key as the male vocalist began singing.

_“Mirándote a los ojos se responden mis porqués…”_

As the song began to reach the chorus, she encouraged them to move their bodies, feeling the music and letting it guide them.

“ _Valió la pena lo que era necesario para estar contigo amor…”_

Emory sang along with the main vocalist and did a freestyle for fun. It was so fun to dance so freely, she radiated comfortableness and the boys continued trying to mimic her flow of steps. For the boys it wasn’t fair that she made it look so easy, it truly had one explanation, this was something natural for her, it flowed through her veins. The song finished and she found herself pulling her long wavy, yet slightly curly hair into a high ponytail that exploded like a pineapple on top of her head. 

“Want to try the spins? Then we can break into partnering with the members.”

“Let’s try it,” Taekwoon said confidently. She liked his initiative to keep his competitive nature untouched.

“Okay,” she agreed cheerfully. She hoped that they misunderstand her happiness because she was sharing her culture with them, not because Taekwoon, one of her six ultimate biases had agreed with her. Because with a group like theirs it was difficult to keep only one bias. Skipping to her phone, she searched for another song with a tricky tempo.

She taught them how to do the spins and separated the boys in pairs; Taekwoon and Hakyeon, Wonshik and Jaehwan, and last but not least, Sanghyuk and Hongbin. They were flustered at first, stepping into each other’s feet, until they had a grasp of partnering and went with the flow, looking better than expected. 

Emory wished that they could learn some more since they looked like they were having fun, but they were genuinely busy practicing their choreographies. 

 

After practice, she went to the Groovl1n studio, where she began brainstorming his wanted story. Emory dragged producer Wonshik out when he was stuck or it was ungodly late, it was her last night there for the time being. They walked in the crisp air to see the precious moon, the image of him looking at the ceiling saying that there’s no moon there was impregnated on her mind. There wasn’t anyone out, just the two of them.

Emory and Wonshik were sat on a bench that overlooked a playground. These two knew where to be at since playgrounds are far too creepy at three in the morning and no one else, awake, asleep, living or dead would be here. A comfortable silence wrapped around them, and they shared a look before chuckling, breaking the silent spell away. 

“You should take care of yourself more often.”

He grabbed the front of his jacket as if what she had said had hunted him physically. Emory slapped his arms, and Wonshik laughed. “I know. I just like hearing you giving me an earful. It shows that even if we’re miles apart you care for me.”

“Are you a masochist—wait, don’t answer that, you wrote Chained Up after all. I barely have time to myself which I invest in self-care, and worrying about your wellbeing.” Absentmindedly, she touched her wrist tattoo. 

Wonshik tugged at his beanie and blew a breath over his hands. “May I?”

Emory nodded extending her arm at him, he rolled her sleeve examining the tattooed skin. “Isn’t it funny that we know each other and still got this?”

“It isn’t, I really liked the album.” It was the truth, and she liked the logo too. That’s why she got it in the first place. Still, she felt that when she knew him and became his friend when time passed and they were still in contact, she was literally chained up to him.

“You’re branded, Em. You’re ours.”

She huffed, her breath visible in a white cloud. “Does that mean that I’m branded by my artist for permanently imprinting his art on me?”

“You don’t have a connection like that with him, do you?”

“Nah, I might be his loyal customer, but we aren’t as close as me and you.”

“See? You’re ours.” Wonshik’s eyes sparkled in the dark, he flicked her wrist. Emory flicked his forehead in return and ran away from him. 

“Come and get me.”

“Aren’t we too old for this?”

She shook her head. “Stop being so mature for a second and get me, you idiot.”

“It’s on.”

This weekend was exactly what she needed to free her mind, she just wished that it would last longer, but she had to come back to reality and live her own life.

When she arrived at her apartment, she saw Laura and Sofie cuddling on her couch watching the Penny Dreadful series. Brian trailed behind her, closing the door of Emory’s apartment and sitting by the couple.

“I would be straight for Ethan Chandler,” Sofie said and fed popcorn to her girlfriend before she could say anything.

Emory rolled her eyes, taking her luggage to her bedroom. She walked to the kitchen and got herself a glass of water. 

“Sometimes I wonder why I trust you guys with the key of this apartment…”

“That’s what best friends are for, you know, invade your personal space and you can’t complain. Us three provide free counseling at any time.” Laura said cheerfully. “Besides, don’t say useless stuff, you’re not getting rid of us anytime soon. We want the details of your Korean escapade.” 

Emory squeezed in between her best friends on the couch, closed her eyes, and the ghost of a smile decorated her face. “It was barely a day and a half, I spent two days stuck in flights.”

“You’re so boring,” Brian said hugging his knees, looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to spill the damned beans. 

Emory’s eyes fluttered open, giving her friends a once over with a look of betrayal. She wasn’t boring, she was just protecting Wonshik’s identity.

“Seriously, it was nothing out of the normal. We talked, ate and we did nothing at all. Though, I taught him how to salsa dance properly along with his friends.”

“So it’s a _he_ ,” Sofie raised her brows surprised.

“What’s his name?” Laura inquired with a teasing smile.

Emory chuckled rubbing her face tiredly. “Guys, don’t start. He’s someone busy,” _and famous._

_“_ Were they good at salsa dancing?”

Emory laughed remembering the members' flustered faces as they tried to get a grasp of the rhythm along with the fluidity of the dance. Jaehwan throwing himself on the floor whining that he couldn’t do it anymore, and Hakyeon apologizing on his behalf and getting Jaehwan on his feet. 

“That’s unexpected unless they synched up like one of those Kpop groups you adore so much.”

Emory choked on her water and coughed, glaring at Brian for commenting such thing. Only if he knew.

“They were good, but not that good. I think that if they had enough time to practice it would come out perfect.”

“Shut up,” Sofie shushed them. “Lily and Dorian are in the scene.”

Emory stole some popcorn and the couple hissed.

“You would’ve been great as an extra from Dracula’s clan.”

“Emory shut the fuck up. Go to your room.”

“This is my apartment.”

“Now.”

 ~

Emory looked at the rainbow of shirts in her closet. It was the established uniform piece that she was required to wear, they were polo shirts with an embroidered logo which stated that _English is Fun!_ along with her name. She grabbed a navy blue polo and paired it with washed jeans and black Converse. Her school wasn’t against tattoos, they were all about art, nevertheless, she wore an oversized cardigan. Looking at herself in the mirror, she arranged her crazy hair, wetting it slightly to keep it under control. 

She walked out of the apartment building and made it to her car. On her way to school, she bought breakfast. Grabbing her bag and her keys, she walked into the main building, some students had started gathering up living up the sullen aura that held the learning place. Back in the day when she was a student here, she had dreaded the weird green shade that the halls were painted in. But now, there was an improvement, they were painted a light shade of turquoise. Along with it, were painted little designs that the art students from the high school division had worked at as _beautifying our school_ project. Ironically, she hated being trapped here all day in the past, now she’s found herself working here by the side of some teachers that had taught her when she was her students’ age.

One by one, each of her homeroom students arrived at the classroom. Emory smiled at the fourth-graders and looked down at her watch before she started the class. She greeted them and apologized for being absent the Friday and this Monday, she explained that she had an urgent matter to attend. From a whiney, overgrown baby. 

“Today we’ll be doing something fun, we’ll be writing short stories,” she looked at her students and they were attentively paying attention. “You have total creative freedom as long as your story has a conflict, an obstacle your main character needs to accomplish. To be fair, I’ll write a short story too and I’ll share it with you guys. For the time being, let’s brainstorm a little plot so that we can get to writing as soon as possible. What do you guys think?”

Her students gave little nods, and some answered yes. She liked doing this kind of activity. They had discussed vocabulary words last week, and they had quizzes to prove that they knew the material by heart. With this, she let the students' imagination flow, normally she would ask them to include the vocabulary words learned last week as an assessment, but it would pry the kids from the creativity. Doing this also gave the children a little breath from the academic weight they have with other classes even when they’re barely in fourth grade. 

Walking around, she answered doubts and helped the kids clarify their ideas. They were writing passionately making Emory smile.

“Miss Bright,” Alejandra raised her arm.

Emory walked to her chair and crouched by her side so they were face to face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Can the characters be based on us?”

Emory nodded, beaming at the little girl. “That’s right. Many writers give their characters characteristics of themselves as a way to make their story more their own. I do that when I’m writing too.”

Alejandra widened her eyes, clearly surprised. “You do?”

“I do.” Emory glanced at the notebook with many scribbles. “You’re doing great, I’m looking forward to reading your story.”

The kid blushed. “I’m hoping you’ll like it.”

With the other classes she worked with the same, but since they were older, it was required to use the vocabulary words in their stories. She also, suggested that their stories had to be unique, that it couldn’t be the storyline of a random Netflix show or a known cartoon because she would know. Originality is a big thing. She did say that if they wanted to alter the ending of a movie or pair two characters that didn’t end together be together, it was allowed. Just like fan fiction. 

 

After her classes at the university, she walked to the English department. She knocked on her father’s office, and he told her to come in. Emory placed her manuscript on her father’s desk. Iván Bright grinned at her, he seemed pleased to see her fulfill her promise of balancing her writing with her studies, teaching and her own life. 

“I’m considering moving permanently to Korea.”

“What! Can’t you beat around the bush for a while, praise my beautiful beard or something before shooting me with such news?”

Iván pressed his lips in a stern line, touching his beard. He ran his hands through his black hair and frowned at his daughter.

“Do you want to see gray hair in your old man? That’s why you, my only daughter, wants to move to the other side of the world.”

Emory shrugged, laughing. “I dunno, _Papi_. I want a change of scenario. I love living here, but hurricanes and nature are a liability to our well being, look what Maria left us with.”

“A reinforced, better Puerto Rico.”

“You aren’t convinced by that.”

He chuckled, feeling ashamed of himself for repeating the same propaganda that no one believed in but still spread around. 

“I’m not.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Now that I have a little over two months left to terminate my graduate career—I’m not going to pursue a doctorate at the moment, dad, let me live my life,” she added as her father sternly looked at her as if he disapproved of her idea. He and Patricia, Emory’s mother, had their baby girl fresh out their sub graduate school and they managed to make their master’s and doctorates with the help of Emory’s grandparents. Iván didn’t want his daughter to pass through the same hardships because she wanted to make poor decisions in life. She was well aware of that.

“ _Papi_ , I’m not getting pregnant any time soon, _okay?_ I’m not making rash decisions either. I already emailed a couple schools in Seoul and I’m waiting for them to write me back.”

Iván covered his face with both his hands and sighed, it came a little haggard which made Emory sat up straight in alert.

“Fine, Em. If it makes you happy, I’ll totally support you with your decision. Have you talked to Bea or Pat?”

Emory shook her head. “I haven’t told either. I realized that I definitely wanted to do it just recently and I had to get it off my chest. You’re the first I’ve told this.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” he looked genuinely surprised. “Not even the three musketeers know?”

 “They don’t. I'll tell them after I tell Bea and Mom.”

They will throw a fit at her for leaving them for the end, but really, who's, in the end, is Wonshik. That's the biggest surprise. Her mother and stepmother could be in a room together thanks to her parents mature split up. The three of them were friends, which isn't a normal combination since most divorced couples tend to hate and blame the other. In their case, they separated to continue their careers by themselves. Emory had been four years when the divorce happened. Patricia and Iván had married young, two years into their sub-graduate studies, and she was born after their graduation. 

She fished her phone and sent the same message to her mothers.  _Let's meet up for coffee, I'd like to tell you something._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is very appreciated. Let me know what you think and you would want to happen. I'm open to suggestions.


	3. Un Poquito Más

Revising stories written by fourth graders isn’t the best way to start the weekend. Emory was doing precisely that. She was intending on going out, and have fun with her best friends in the night. But to do that, she had to get these papers corrected. She couldn’t afford to lose sleep over something so simple. The four piles of documents splayed on top of her bed assured her that it would take a while to get it done. 

“I don’t want to do this,” she mumbled reaching for the pile corresponding to her home group. 

“You should’ve thought of that when you chose to study education and become a teacher. On top of that, you’re continuing your graduate studies in the same field to be a professor.”

Emory glanced at her computer with a blank face. “You aren’t being helpful. I preferred when you were silently focused on your composing.”

Wonshik pouted adorably in the screen making Emory want to close her laptop ending the video call abruptly. “I’ll play you some music. It feels like you want to murder me.”

She nodded wordlessly arranging a few tests in her clipboard before grabbing her phone that had vibrated with a message in the group chat of her best friends. The message asked if the plans were still up, and she quickly typed that as soon as she finished with the correcting, she’d get ready. Shortly after, instrumental beats sounded in the lone apartment and through the studio, uniting the two with music. 

Outside her window, the sun was blazing strongly, with a beautiful blue sky and little to no clouds adorning it. It was a shame that she wasn’t outside enjoying her Friday after getting out of work since she didn’t have classes these days which allowed her weekends to be longer and manageable. 

She read silently, marking the parts that were grammatically incorrect and adding encouraging comments for the students to keep up the hard work. Surprisingly, the stories were well thought and plotted for ten-year-olds. There was one that was incredibly personal, it was from Alejandra. The girl knew how to convey her emotions through words, Emory knew that she had a promising future as a writer if she kept practicing. As she placed the last story on top of the fourth pile, she released a sigh, moving her neck from side to side and sitting up straight. 

In the screen of her laptop, Wonshik was smiling tiredly at something in the floor which Emory assumed was Ondeongie. 

“Wonshik, go to the dorm and sleep.”

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and scooped his pet in his lap, yawning in the process. _So cute_. Who’d ever thought that the already softie Wonshik turned even mushier when sleepy? He resembled a little, pouty kid whining that he didn’t want to go to sleep even if he was exhausted. The dim light in his studio darkened his features, but she could tell that the dark circles around his eyes were prominent. 

“Mmm, I’ll go to sleep,” he muttered texting on his phone. 

“Good. It’s way past your bedtime.”

“I know, Mom. We can’t compromise this brilliant brain, and all that.”

“Keep mocking me, you ungrateful man, but you know it's the truth. You seriously need to rest.” She hated sounding so uptight, but she was being sincere. The only way the brain can truly rest is while sleeping which ensures that the toxins and stress are released. 

Wonshik smiled foolishly. “You’re right, Em. There’s no need to repeat it every time you scold me for my sleeping habits.”

Emory got up from the bed and placed the papers in her desk, before settling back in it under her warm blankets. It didn’t matter how much times Emory told Wonshik to rest and look after himself, he couldn’t do much about it. Just listening to her telling him what to do eased the familiarity of their relationship, making him feel a little less burdened and relaxed from his normally busy life. 

“Okay, I’ll stop worrying about you then.”

In a way, she was being a hypocrite. Whenever she was stuck with a packed agenda between the classes she taught and the classes she took along with the papers, assignments, readings, and markings, she sacrificed sleep time to get the job done. Usually, the morning later would be a pain in the ass from the lack of accustomed rest her body got on a daily basis due to her strict bedtime. She got it. In order for his solo career and idol career to keep being successful, he had to sacrifice what a normal guy had. Because this was his time to shine, and he had to use it while he could. Preferably before he was due to complete his mandatory military service.

“It’s okay. Worry all you want, and rant away. Midterms are around the corner and you’ll go MIA on me.”

“Well I have to, I don’t really have a choice. I am required to take the tests and give them to my students,” she said widening her eyes and motioning her hands trying to prove her point. “Besides, you’re preparing for a comeback, and during the promotions, you disappear. Hell, you’re already caught up in practice and it isn’t scheduled yet.”

“I can’t tell you much, but expect it to be in April. This complete album will be the one I’ve worked the most yet,” he stood up with Ondeongie sleeping in his left arm. “I told you too much already, but it’s different. I’m not supposed to share information regarding the comeback, but I’m defending my point.”

It wasn’t that different. Each were studying for their Master’s which was a huge weight in their shoulders all while they were occupied with their respective jobs. Keeping up with work and studies is a challenging thing to do, and they were managing it in their own way. Their jobs were different, yet the situation was so similar.

“You win, Wonshik. You gave me confidential data that I wasn’t trying to force out of you. But now I’m excited with the little wait we’ll have for this long-anticipated comeback.”

He was now in the passenger seat of the van looking amused at her.

“Sorry for making you drive this stupidly stubborn child back to his own bed. Thanks, manager-nim.”

Wonshik turned his phone to his manager. His hair was sticking up in every direction as if he was pulled out of bed to do this. He looked haggard and done with the imprudent idol, and still, he managed to smile at her before turning his eyes back to the road.

“I’m supposed to look out for him, they pay me for that. But he seems to listen to you better.”

Emory snickered, hugging her knees and leaning back to the pillows arranged against the headboard.

“You need to pester him constantly, bothering him to no end like a plague. Then he’ll obey just so you shut up.”

Wonshik looked betrayed. “That was supposed to be a secret.”

“I don’t care. Our job is to keep you safe _and_ healthy.”

The car stopped and Wonshik thanked his manager before stepping out. He walked to the elevator, slowly, his dog still sleeping soundlessly. For a moment he was jealous that his pet was able to close its eyes and sleep to no end, and it could actually get tired of sleeping and demanding attention. Which made no sense, but pets are needy like that.

He walked out of the elevator, and he grinned at his phone. “I’m here, sound and safe. Happy?”

“Very.” Emory nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “Good night.”

“I’ll talk to you later?” He asked quietly slipping into the dorm and tiptoeing to his room where he settled his sleeping baby in its bed.

“Only if you sleep at least six hours.”

Wonshik groaned, rummaging through his clothes to wash up. “We’ll see,” he said before hanging up. 

Emory was about to close her laptop, but she decided to check her email just in case something important had been sent to her. She started to sort through the tons of spam mail, deleting those carefully. One stopped her from her mail cleanse, making her breath frantically unstable. A trembling hand dared to click on the email that she had been waiting in a couple weeks, not now.

Summarizing the message that praised her qualifications, they told her that she was being considered for the position. Since she had let them know she was still studying, they were making an exception to interview Emory via video call. If she passed the evaluation, they’d want to properly meet her so she could familiarize with the school, take her decision and most importantly, sign the contract. Emory was astounded as she reread the message. She didn’t know what to do. How to react. Now it was something official.

She would wait for other offers before she answered back. But that school was at the top of her list, they had answered back quickly. It seemed fair to keep a modern school with a great English program as her priority. She could be part of that. Slowly twitch it, and make it more her own, all while writing at her pace. 

Suddenly tonight’s outing with her friends had a reason. They were going to watch the sunset as they usually did the first Friday of the month. Then they would go to _El Boricua_ to dance mostly salsa until their feet hurt. There were still some hours before it was time for them to meet up. To keep herself busy without succumbing to Netflix, Emory stood up from bed picking her laptop and putting it by the stories in her desk. She grabbed one of the laundry baskets already color divided and dumped it in the washing machine, she set up to the bathroom and cleaned it meticulously. After that, she went to the kitchen and prepared coffee to suffice for more people than it was intended.

Just as she sat down and turned on the TV while nursing her freshly made coffee Sofie barged in her place, and a while later Brian came in too. Emory didn’t bother to look back at them, she knew that they were helping themselves a cup of coffee. They sat by each side of her, and Emory smiled. Brian was still in his work clothes, which were a little too formal for his liking. In his lap rested his iPad Pro secured in a protective case, said device contained his hard work which kept him in his position. To Emory’s left and closer to the air vent was Sofie, her blue hair sweaty along with her running clothes.

“We should get ready. Lau told me that she’d meet us at the beach.”

“Work?”

“Yeah, she’s supervising a couple interns, but she’ll be out as soon as possible. You know that she’ll avoid getting stuck in Condado’s traffic.”

Emory stood up. “I’ll get ready now, this hair won’t get wash by itself.”

“Fuck,” Sofie said. “I have to shave my legs.”

As soon as she said that, she downed the rest of her coffee in a big gulp and ran out, across the hallway where her apartment was.

“I’ll have another coffee if you don’t mind,” Brian called to Emory who was in her room picking what to wear. She settled for a floral romper, and ballet flats, the main concept of her outfit being comfortableness. 

“You can finish it if you want,” she raised her voice, walking out of her room with her clothes in hand. “Could you do me a favor and hang the clothes in the closet when the machine’s done?”

“Sure, no problem.”

Emory went to the bathroom, turned the shower making sure the water was warmer. She showered rather quickly compared to the required thirty minutes she at least spends when washing up in the night—morning showers are just quick sessions avoiding falling asleep with the warmth. Patting herself dry, her hair wrapped unceremoniously in a towel, Emory applied moisturizer to the tattoos marking her skin. She untangled her wet hair, grabbed the cream and evenly distributed it. When she walked out she found her friends already prepared discussing over which car they were going to use.

“We’ll use mine, it’s spacious and cleaner. Now let’s go, we’re gonna be late and Lau doesn’t like us unpunctual.”

Emory parked her Jeep next to Laura’s coupe. Laura was leaning against her car and smiled wearily as the others approached her. Sofie pecked her lips gently and tugged her hand following  Brian and Emory. They sat in a blanket Brian had brought and stared at the sun slowly disappearing in the horizon. The soft crash of the waves, the pinks, oranges, and blue of the day sky dimmed soothing Emory’s mind.

“Guys,” she called their attention. “I’ve meaning to tell you something.”

“You’re pregnant?” Sofie jokes making Laura smack her head playfully while muttering that Emory hasn’t found the one just yet, and that’s the only case scenario in which she would possibly go through that atrocity. Thankfully it wasn’t in a near vicinity. 

Dipping her toes in the sand felt relaxing, something that Emory’s mind needed urgently. “A while ago I applied to be a teacher in Korea,” she paused to look at their reactions. But they were completely silent, Laura nodded as if telling Emory to continue and the other two were lost in thought looking at the horizon. “Today I received an answer, they said that they were considering me for the position. They’ve put me on top of their list—which could be what they said to other applicants—but they even offered to interview me through video conference.”

By the time Brian decided to speak the sun had already settled completely, leaving their surroundings dark apart from the lampposts glowering a yellowish light by the street.

“Now we have a reason to travel across the world every now and then.”

Emory hugged his arm, showing him affectionately that she appreciated that he took the matter lightly.

“When are you moving?”

“I planned to go to VIXX’s concert that’ll probably be scheduled around the last week of May, then I’ll come back to your wedding and the graduation, pack my things and leave for good.”

“That leaves us a couple months then. Let’s celebrate for now.” 

And they did celebrate to no end. Which left a painfully thudding headache the morning after. She could only remember the first and last beers and had completely lost count of how many shots they had downed like college kids in a frat party. Emory felt sluggish after her shower as she peered over her wardrobe before wearing the first dress she saw and a pair of sandals with the biggest sunglasses she found. Wincing as she tilted her head back, she downed some aspirin and looked for her purse. She didn’t even bother to look at herself in the mirror, her hair was pulled up in a huge, messy bun that didn’t look purposely pretty but was practical.

Maybe Emory was half vampire, maybe she’s still drunk. Definitely, let’s blame the remaining alcohol in her system. Or perhaps it was that the sun was unforgivably scorching today, as per usual, shining brightly merciless. Possibly, it was the white gravel that decorated the floor of the outdoor dining area. Little colorful kiosks were scattered around the open area. Families and groups of friends were having fun, drinking, and eating, an easy-going mood lingering in the air mixed with the various aromas from the different cuisines. Pleasant. That’s how Emory should feel right now instead of nauseous and queasy. But underneath the uneasiness laid the contagious overall feeling that this place eluded. 

“Em!” She recognized both of the voices that were calling there.

She wobbled around a pair of children that were running about blowing bubbles in the air. Patricia and Beatriz were sipping some craft beers, sunglasses in their faces and were wearing loose dresses that were a bit too juvenile for their age. Cleary, Emory’s the only one that knows that they’re three years away from their fifties judging from the thirty-something group of dudes eying them as if they were young too.

“Did you see those guys not so subtly checking you too out?” Emory asked sitting down at their table.

“Yes, we’re not teenagers to not know something like that,” Patricia chastised raising her glass to her lips.

“But now that you’re here, it’ll be more believable that we’re twenty years younger,” Beatriz smirked twirling her hair.

Emory sighed, rubbing her hands through her forehead. The headache had subsided greatly, and the tenseness in her shoulders relaxed with easiness. “Keep twirling your hair, and pose too so I can show dad how you’re flirting with younger men.”

Beatriz dropped her hands and almost pouted, then she narrowed her perfectly lined eyes at Emory—it was a look that Emory knew that helped Patricia win her cases at the court. She swore that men peed a little when that happened, and poor judgment that would go against her instead of agreeing with her. Right now, it was as powerful, but just because Emory respected her and considered her a mother. 

“You’re no fun, Emory,” Patricia defended Beatriz. “We still have it.”

“God, you two are impossible. You managed to make Iván Bright fall in love with you two. He, who’s six-three, doesn’t have a gray hair in his head and isn’t thinning like most people your age. He is half English for God’s sakes and has amazing blue eyes to top it all, and let’s not begin with the dimples or how charismatic he is.” Emory didn’t spend that much time thinking so detailedly about her father, she hadn’t even noticed it all before. But she once overheard a group of freshman girls talking to themselves about professor Bright this and professor Bright that. Foolish girls attracted to the daddy kink, and the professor look. The only positive thing that benefited her father was that his classes, no matter how boring they were, were always full and people almost fought for taking them. Because it wasn’t that he was just attractive, he was charming as well and knew how to make the material a tad more interesting when needed.

“And he still works out every morning before work,” Beatriz said dreamily. Emory swore she saw Beatriz wiping some drool from her mouth, it was adorable seeing her so whipped about Iván.

“Is he still good in bed?” Patricia asked. And that’s where Emory drew the line and decided to ignore the details she wasn’t a bit curious knowing from second hand. _They’re gross_. 

“ _Mami,_ Bea, I have an interview scheduled for next week.”

That seemed to call their attention because they had stopped talking about detailed things she certainly wasn’t interested in. They had perched up their sunglasses atop of their heads and squinted at her.

“Are you sure about this?”

“You’re leaving a stable life here to go there, and bet it all in a guessing game.”

Emory touched her wrist tattoo and shrugged. Sure, she was risking practically everything, but she wasn’t going to back up now. The next thing inher list was to get a real state agent that would help her get a good place within her budget. Nothing here was stable, teachers aren’t taken seriously even if they’re basically forging the future generations. Not to mention the natural factor that is the hurricane season that started in June and ended in November. Last year, they have passed through probably one of the worst seasons in history from which they’re still recovering, and the other seasons promise to worsen with time. 

“I know, but let me do this for me. I already have experience living there and I really liked it.” _I met Wonshik and the members of his group too. He considers me one of his close friends—even if he doesn’t include me in his lyrics. Mami, mamá, I like what we have, whatever it is. And I treasure it with my heart. Who thought that this little_ jibarita _would’ve had it in her?_

~ 

Wonshik smiled from his position in the floor. The members were practicing for their latest comeback and starting with the preparations for the upcoming concert. There’s a pressure in their shoulders with their new album, each song had a choreographed performance for their concert which set up high expectations from their loyal Starlights and the general audience that spied from the sidelines. It had been a year since their last comeback as a group and as promised, they would come strong with a full album that showcased their unique style.

“What did she say this time?” Jaehwan asked resting his head in Wonshik’s stomach. He chuckled, thinking about the selfie Emory had sent him a few minutes ago in which she was glaring at a forkful of salad. It wasn’t a flattering photo, the SnapChat filter just made it a bit prettier with a filter since she wasn’t pulling any cutesy faces ironically as usual. She was just complaining about her salad without using any actual words, it was funny that a writer did that. To him at least.

“She’s praising everyone’s hairstyles but mine.” It was true, that had been the message that the text she had sent ten seconds ago.

“What’s funny ‘bout that?”

“Em says that I should’ve chosen just one color and I’m retorting that that’s the whole point.”

“You two are weird,” Hongbin commented from across the room where he and Sanghyuk were marking each step. A slow fluidity between movements as they perfected their dance routine watching their body lines.

“What’s she doing?” Hakyeon asked, keeping an eye on the two youngest’s dancing.

Wonshik typed the question and sent it to her. Taekwoon entered the room with refreshments, he sat on the floor by Wonshik in his phone and Jaehwan wiggling about vocalizing.

“Take your drinks, and snacks,” Taekwoon gestured at the bag, and lowered his voice to a whisper, “ungrateful kids.”

The pair laying on the floor snickered sitting up and grabbed their cold drinks and snacks. The other three joined them and Wonshik’s attention was diverted back to his phone that vibrated with a reply to his question.

_‘I’m eating lunch and oh fuck! My jeans just tore -.-’_

Wonshik frowned, but a smile tugged at his lips. For the two and a half years he’s known Emory, her jeans—ripped or not—always found a way of tearing down near the inseam. When it first happened around him Emory had turned beet ret embarrassedly, but more than a handful of jeans later she was shamelessly broadcasting it to him in lieu of the comfortableness she felt with him. She could’ve omitted it, but she chose to include it in their texts and that was completely fine with him. He looked forward to those bits and pieces that slipped through. They weren’t really necessary and didn’t hold any essence or importance. Yet, they held a level of genuine realness that he wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

He began typing an answer before the phone was snatched from his hands. Hakyeon surveyed Wonshik’s phone, scrolling down old messages. There was no distinct furrow in his brow, and his eyes weren’t focused. Hakyeon was just messing around like a nosy mother. Wonshik is twenty-six, he wanted to remark, creating a bantering session with Hakyeon but decided against it. He was too tired to do that.

“Em sun emoji and moon emoji says that we did great without Havana cover,” Hakyeon muses eyes glinting mischievously over Wonshik.

“What’s with those emojis?” Taekwoon inquired holding Wonshik’s neck playfully. 

Wonshik scrunched his nose distastefully and raised his shoulders to prevent Taekwoon from touching or tickling him. The emojis were selected based on the time zone differences and how often when one was under the sun, the other was under the moon. It was something, simple and positively sweet. 

“Why is she noticing just now?” Sanghyuk questioned after taking a sip from his blue Powerade.

Emory was held up with midterms—her own and her students—and when she finalized with those, new material that would line up for finals had begun being covered. Seriously, it was scary how busy she was with her own life as a student and as a teacher and herself outside of an educational institution. Somehow she managed to catch up with her friends, and lastly with him, and the group activities. That’s of course without mentioning that she liked to pull his ear figuratively whenever he wasn’t doing anything under what’s known as healthy common sense.

“She was busy, living,” Wonshik deadpanned earning an overly dramatic pout from Jaehwan in regard of the detailed facts spared from them. Jaehwan knew more than he pretended he didn’t. “Hakyeon, ask her what did she liked the most.”

“Our hair, obviously,” Hongbin muttered, running a hand through his hair a dimple threatening to show in his cheek with a secret smile.

“So handsome,” Jaehwan cooed holding a cringing Hongbin in his hands.

Wonshik starred at Hakyeon who’s starring at Wonshik’s phone with a slight blush creeping through his neck and tinted the tips of his ears completely red. Hakyeon seemed flustered, Wonshik realized, and he grabbed his phone quickly to know why.

He laughed and ruffled Hakyeon’s hair ignoring his protests.

“I’m older than you, and I'm your leader. You _have_ to respect me.”

Wonshik shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah? But you’re blushing because Em said that our hips don’t lie.”

“She’s a freaking _latina_. She knows what she’s talking about.”

_‘Everyone but Taekwoon, poor gramps made an effort not to look stiff and he still did.’_

A pointed gaze met Taekwoon stealing snacks from the others, he looked up, chewing and unfazed.

“What?”

Wonshik hid the smile the best he could but felt the corners of his mouth betraying him nevertheless. He resembled an excited puppy that’s been told to stay, following his stillness, Taekwoon took his phone unlocking it with his thumb. It was nerve-racking to see Taekwoon the one who isn’t supposed to know, read the message. Unexpectedly from the major drama queen of their group—even bigger than Hakyeon and Jaehwan together—just laughed. He fucking chuckled and smirked. Wonshik wanted to get rid of his stupid smile. He had thought that Taekwoon would frown and pout and whine and start an argument over something said lightheartedly and meant no harm. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Once the phone was back in Wonshik’s hands, Taekwoon huffed, a slight playfulness in his face and he said, “well, tell her that not everyone is blessed with hips like hers. Or were born with the burning passion of dance flowing through our veins.”

“That’s why I told you we should’ve let Taekwoon write songs for this album,” Sanghyuk whispered while Wonshik typed _‘he did his best tho, and his singing was on point.’_

_‘As expected from the main vocalist, but kudos to him for the effort. He deserves a golden star.’_

_‘U mean a sticker of a golden star?’_

Wonshik grinned locking his phone. Of course, she would give Taekwoon a golden star or a happy face, she a fourth-grade teacher after all. She might as well annotate his name under the star students of the week and such. Did teachers still do that?

“Taekwoon’s busy, Hyogi, he’s experimenting and trying other genres before he does anything new.”

Hakyeon draped an arm around Taekwoon’s shoulders. “Are we going to release something else after this album?”

Taekwoon seemed secretive, nothing new with that, but there was a sparkle in his eyes like he knew something no else were aware of. 

“Who knows.”

 ~

What to do? Which one should she choose? What color looks best? There were so many options and Emory was already having a hard time breathing courtesy of the manager spraying sweet and floral body splash all over the aisles. By her side was Isabelle, who seemed like a fish in water in the lush lingerie store. Emory felt out of place, she should be home writing. That’s what writers do.

“Remind me why I agreed to do this…” Emory whined following Isabelle around.

“Because you're due your boob fitting, and you must treat yourself to some overpriced, quality lingerie every once in a while even if no one sees it. This is something for you, so you have a dirty little secret underneath your trendy clothes. Doesn’t it feel awesome to wear matching undies, it’s like you’re this powerful being.”

She did that every once in a while. Wearing matching undies, and feeling like she could conquer the world with those. _Even if no one but her knew._ Or maybe that’s an ad that got into her head, brainwashing her thoughts. 

Emory pouted as they neared the fitting room area. She shouldn’t feel terrified, she had already done this. The first time was when she was fifteen, her mother and step-mom dragged her to the store and got her bags full of age-appropriate undies. They had followed that tradition up to this date, and she didn’t find it weird. With them. It was almost comforting to see her mother figures get bras for the other like it was the most common thing in the world. Like Patricia wasn’t Emory’s mother, divorced Iván, and Beatriz hadn’t remarried the same man a couple years later. 

Whereas most divorced couples held grudges with each other, Emory’s parents didn’t. If someday the three came clean and confessed that they were in a polyamorous relationship Emory wouldn’t be surprised at all. Patricia, Iván, and Beatriz, possible polyamorous individuals, parents of an asexual. Nonsense. Stupid, nonsensical level of weirdness than what she’s used to. It was a theory, she wasn’t discarding it just yet.

“Stop looking so constipated. She’ll just measure your back and chest to see where we’re at.”

Rolling her eyes, she scoffed at Isabelle but extended her arms as the brassiere expert skillfully did her job.

“Looks like we’re up a cup,” the woman said smiling at Emory before thrusting a handful of black bras to try. “Don’t hesitate to ask for help, that’s what we’re here for.”

Emory nodded and tried them as instructed, she showed the pairs she was asked to before wanting to run away from the fitting room. Too much pink. It looked like Barbie’s dream place.

“So?” Isabelle asked looking up from her phone once Emory was outside clothing a card with her name, size and preferences.

“I’ve magically grown, though it might not be so magical. Is it because I’m aging?”

Isabelle raised her brow, Emory knew what she was thinking. She’s two years younger than Isabelle, she wasn’t _allowed_ to talk about age.

“Come on. Let’s get you pretty bras that won’t stab you if you use them too much.”

“Well, not everyone’s got a hubby credit card to buy whatever our ovaries want. I’m surprised he even lets you study when you already have a daughter.”

A dramatic sniff later, “please. You’re single, living in a paid apartment with barely any expenses. _And,_ your paycheck’s generous.”

“But I’m moving, I have to save every penny.”

“What about your friend? Isn’t he _like_ , loaded to buy you a boarding pass like it’s nothing?”

He might be. That’s his money. Emory doesn’t have a say about it. Wonshik can do whatever he wants with with it. Like buy his so precious branded shoes and clothes while sipping his Starbucks coffee. Coffee that isn’t worth the price unless your add two extra espresso shots. Then it is good.

“Let’s talk about Alejandra’s next test.”

Isabelle opened her mouth. Her eyes were fiery, ready to argue, but she nodded submissively. The image of a perfect wife in a patriarchal society. Emory would’ve been fooled assuming that this Isabelle is the real one, but the same Isabelle has continued her studies after getting pregnant early in the way. It was in eleventh grade, ten years ago to be precise. The fighter in her kept her going, got married to Chris, Alejandra’s father, ran their house as a full-time mom and a part-time student. That’s the Isabelle that Emory has always admired. 

“Ale likes it, she has read it multiple times already. When I was around her age I read the Spanish translation. I love how uncomplicated the story is, and the author uses simple language that kids understand easily.”

They were walking through the almost empty mall. It was a weekday, Emory’s students were in a day trip to a play for Spanish class, so she was free from work.

“I think that The Little Prince is a great book for all ages. For kids to understand and for us, the grown ups to not forget that we were once like children too. There’s something so pure beneath it all.”

“Who knew you were such a deep thinker,” Isabelle mused. “I know you’re a writer and all, but Emory, it seems like your incessant urge to look for what isn’t there has paid off. C’mon, let’s get coffee it’s my treat.”

“You mean _Chris’_ treat.”

“Don’t worry about the semantics.”

And that’s how Emory ended having the same overpriced coffee she had been mentally criticizing Wonshik earlier.

~

Emory had already read the book. She had to do it in order to make a little analysis and discuss it with her students a couple days before the test. One way or another, words that had been far ignored, and meaningless got her stuck reading and rereading the same chapter over and over again. 

It was the part where the prince asked the fox what does _tame_ mean, to which the fox answered that it meant to establish ties. But that wasn’t all, that was just the beginning of an internal turmoil. The part was when the fox says that to him, the prince is nothing more than a little boy who's just like any other boy, and he had no need of him and vice versa. Then, came the part of the taming, where both needed each other. Unique in all the world.

Certainly, it wasn’t the best thing to think about while discussing the design of her tattoo. She had finally found another thing to add her collection of little flowers and stars adorning her arms along with the Chained Up logo, it was a cactus. Daniel, the tattoo artist, had jokingly suggested that she needed it to be really pretty, otherwise, it would look like a prickly little penis. He was busy adding details to his sketch, making the art his with little geometrical patterns here and there. 

“Danny?”

“Hmm?” He asked without looking up from his drawing.

“I’ll play some music, yours is dreadful.”

“Sure.”

_Escape_ sounded through the speaker filling the silent stillness in the tattoo parlor. That’s exactly what she was doing. Leaving this life behind to start anew. Ideally, she was escaping. Running away. The interview had gone well, she was accepted at the school. However, the manuscript hadn’t met her father’s expectations. He’d told her that it was well written, and at lack of better words, he said it needed _essence._ Her protagonist was just like her, it had bits and pieces of her. Things she had passed to her main character. She knew Dawn inside out, she had fought her inner insecurities and gave her a realistic life as much as she could. It wasn’t enough. Never fucking enough.

No. She wasn’t actually escaping. Emory was moving for good. New opportunities awaited her in her file of the job. Hopefully in life too. This school she’d be a teacher at was brand new, they were doing everything needed to perform an open house event over the summer to show the facilities and programs they offered to parents and interested students. She had been asked to send different syllabus and curriculums intended for random grades as the final straw for her to be accepted. They had admired the ideas that came from a recent graduate and further plans as a professor with the Master’s diploma that would be given to her a day after she came back from the concert. 

Apparently, the faculty would consist of young teachers that just like Emory was willing to run after their students _if needed._ The sole idea of it being a school run by new teachers promised fresh ideologies and a bright future to set the school on the right path. It was tiring to see old teachers who don’t have the mental capacity to deal with kids—no matter their age—anymore.

When she settled down, she’ll pour herself into sorting what’s wrong with Dawn’s story. She’d do it for her, because these characters had a life of their own in her mind, and she wanted to share what her imagination had built to the rest of the world.

A few days later, she laid in bed staring at the dark ceiling of her room, her phone pressed to her ear, with an ongoing call with Wonshik. She could afford to be awake at this hour now that she was done with her job and with her studies too. Being so free of responsibilities had led her to ponder on things.

“Have you read The Little Prince?”

“I haven’t…Why?”

  _Because it reminded me of you. Of this. Whatever_ this _is. Because you’re unique in my world. Because there’s a big possibility you’ve tamed me. No matter how brutal that sounds. Because I want the days to pass quickly so I can see your fucking face. Because my heart is already preparing to see you perform on stage. Is it too selfish of me to want this_ platonic _thing to have more meaning? A particular one._ _I want more._ Dame solo un poquito más. _Just a little bit more._

“No particular reason,” she breathed, trying to calm her unsteady heart. “My students had their final test on it the other day.”

“Do you want me to read it?”

“There’s no need, Wonshik,” she held him at an arm’s length even if there was an actual distance cast between their respective countries. Time zones, seas, and oceans that kept them apart. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Mhm.”

“We’re up next for the prerecording. I’ll talk to you later?”

“I’ll probably be asleep by then.” _Lies._ “Good luck on your goodbye stage.” She meant it.

“Thanks.”

“Bye.” But you can’t be _mine._

Her mind was beginning to play tricks on her. Reluctantly, she got up. She needed to pent out this frustration to someone who’d tell her what to do. Someone that’ll help her resurface from the deep. Shivering from the cold of the air conditioner, she walked to her closet and grabbed a huge, gray Supreme hoodie. _The hoodie_ Wonshik had lent her when she came to visit him under his needy accord. Not needy. He wasn’t the one who jumped onto the plane without a second thought. With her eyes closed, she breathed slowly catching the faint scent of his cologne. She was losing it. For fuck’s sakes, not now of all times. _Stop smelling the fucking hoodie, don’t be creepy._

In her fluffy slippers, Emory marched out of her apartment across the hall and knocked on the door. Seconds later, Sofie opened the door with her blue hair sticking in every direction.

“Did you put the body on ice?”

“Huh?”

“Why else would you cross the hall in the middle of the night for if you haven’t committed murder? I want you to get away with assassinating whichever you hate the most.”

Well, she wasn’t hating anybody. This was more of a heart thing, that had to do with feelings and opening up a door she had long forgotten about.

“I haven’t done that, but I’ll know who to call in case it happens,” Emory said stuffing her hands in the pocket of the hoodie. “Can I, can I come in?”

Sofie smiled nodding, stepping aside allowing Emory to enter the apartment quietly. Avoiding stumbling with any of Sofie’s photography equipment, Emory followed Sofie to her’s and Laura’s bedroom. The thudding in her heart had begun to settle down around the familiarity of her friends’ place even if they spent more time at her apartment. Laura closed her laptop and placed it by her side while the other two sat in the end of the bed, crossed legged.

“Hey, Em. What’s wrong? You look tired.”

Emory smiled. “I’m restless, but it’ll be pointless trying to sleep when my mind doesn’t allow me to.”

“What’s keeping you up?”

“Your book? The moving process? Your new job? Or something else?”

Truthfully, all of the above, but her thoughts were leaning against something else. It terrified her to come to those terms. She hadn’t dealt with this kind of stuff in ages. Emory has stopped caring about the idea of dating. Of falling in love. Having a family of her own. It had been buried a long time ago in the back of her mind because she’d been convinced that finding someone who’d accept her asexuality was almost impossible. Yet, here she was. Doubting the boundary, the border that she’d drawn for the respect she had of him. Dammit. Dangerous, that’s what this was. What is this? She isn’t like this.

Sofie gave Laura a cup of tea and Emory a cup of coffee.

“Aren’t you against coffee?”

“Caffeine is deadly, so deal with decaf. I’m not against it, but it’d rather have you thinking straight without submerging in endless riddles that your mind upholds.”

Emory’s mind is in too deep a fresh maze, a stupid riddle but whatever. She was too troubled to protest against the decaf, what kind of people drank that? Monsters and Laura obviously.

“Thanks, guys.”

Silence overtook them, permitting Emory to align her thoughts while their eyes were focused over The Last Jedi. Emory didn’t want to ask why these two hardcore fans were watching the movie in the middle of the night. They’d never judged Emory’s fandom, so she won’t judge theirs when she low-key liked Star Wars too.

“Don’t tell me you’re still wondering how the VIXX members manage to be charismatic, sophisticated and sexy on stage, but once it’s over they’re cutesy fluff balls again?” Sofie questioned.

“I need scientific proof that they do have a switch that activates their performance and real-life modes.” Professionalism, perhaps.

Laura waved her hands in dismissal. “ _Mi amor_ , it’s not that. There’s worry written all over your face, Em. Now, be honest with us and tell us what’s going on in that overthinking, creative mind of yours.”

Emory was definitely elevating things to a higher level. Wonshik; he’s a guy that way too many people have a crush on. _It’s not the same_ , her mind debated, _you two talk to each other._ He’s even been texting Emory when he normally disappears during comeback promotions. Her heart leaped at that, he texted her good morning, asked if she had eaten on a daily basis between music shows, practice, and radio programs. She’s in too deep. They’re nothing. But she’s already chained up. 

Sipping her coffee, with her eyes trained on the ginormous flat screen in the wall playing the movie. In the scene, Kylo Ren and Rey Kenobi gazed at each other with affection, passion, hesitation. The tension was unbearable, and those two weren’t in any kind of relationship. Still, Kylo managed to pull Rey’s darkness out while she got the light put away six feet under his being. How messed is that Emory wanted something like that? Where she got the good and the bad out of someone. And romance? That was the enigma, she didn’t know if she was ready for that. She was making it complicated.

What’s wrong with wanting more? She had a right of it too. Just like anyone else. Walks on the park with his dog. Pointless conversations with dawn peering on the corner. Cuddles. Affection. Non-sexual touches. She wanted to learn how to fall in love.

While Kylo made big, puppy eyes to Rey, asking to join him on the dark side and they’d rule together. Emory imagined the prospect of her future significant other asking something so crucial or completely meaningless. She hurried her face in her hands, this wasn’t necessary. Letting out a strangled sob, and gasping for air, she was welcomed with Wonshik’s pleasant scent. Quietly, she breathed and blamed her tired body for enjoying it. Well, that’s that. She figured she freaking liked him. The knots in her stomach had settled a weight in her shoulders.

“You okay?” Laura asked quietly, making sure to give Emory space. 

“ ‘m fine.” Still uneasy, and possibly frightened about confessing her feelings. Nevertheless, she’s considerably better than before. “Dad said that my manuscript’s good, not great nor perfect. It still needs something to be approved.”

Mentally self-patting her shoulders for hiding what had been bothering her for real. Telling them about her novel’s better. If done properly this story could help her debut as a young adult author. It’s something she’s only dreamt of achieving and if she accomplished that she’d feel like she had done something right with her education apart from being an educator. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of the chapter is the title of a song obviously titled Un Poquito Más by Predo Capó. It is a great song, you should definitely check it out if you have time. 
> 
> And thanks for reading~


	4. just let me hold you, hold you like a hostage

Emory sat in the tattoo studio, wincing slightly until the artist cracked a joke, and she laughed. He had moved away from her because he had expected her to react like that. She closed her eyes and repeated 'just a bit more' over and over. The tattooist was talking to her about a project he was excited about, and even though Emory was paying attention, she was wondering if she had sent everything she needed.

Emory was finally moving to South Korea. It took a trip there, which she took in the first place to be able to experience the Lost Fantasia. Emory knew it would be the last concert before Hakyeon and Taekwoon enlisted and she witnessed it and cried while she was at it. She had to talk to the school board, they offered to pay her housing, but Wonshik didn't like the one bedroom nothingness that they agreed on. He wanted her to have her own space to be free in, instead of a little cage or so he believed it was when he had scrunched his nose in disbelief seeing the place in person.

"You like it?" asked the artist after wrapping the fresh tattoo.

Emory looked at the art, skin red and raw. It still stung, it had hurt like a bitch, but she loved it. The cactus was fucking perfect.

~

Saying goodbye had never been Emory's forte. She's more of a see you later kind of girl. So when she stepped out of the passenger's seat of her father's car, she felt like wanting to melt under the Puerto Rican sun. Her dad had come along with her, Patricia and Beatriz, stayed behind because they couldn't handle it.

"Doll, don't ever forget where you came from, okay?" Victor, who always talked to his daughter in English, said in Spanish.

"Of course, Papi. I'll always be a Puerto Rican even if I'm on the other side of the world. I promise to make you proud." She hugged him tightly for good measure and walked away.

 

When she walked down the aisle of arrivals in Korea, she didn't expect to see a Puerto Rican flag with her name on it. She approached the man warily; he looked like a driver from a movie.

"You must be Emory, right? Mr. Kim arranged this for you knowing you would be tired."

Before Emory could question the driver or Wonshik, her phone vibrated with a text from the latter.

 

<How was your flight? Is his English okay?>

Emory chuckled, feeling silly to not trusting in Wonshik.

-Who? The driver? It wasn't necessary, you know?-

-How's Miami btw?-

-Shouldn't you be sleeping?-

<I should>

<I just wanted to make sure you're safe>

Emory thanked the driver who brought her luggage to the lobby of her building despite her protests.

-You worry too much. You're starting to sound like me-

<Is that a compliment? uwu>

 - ... -

 

She cursed out loud when he started calling her, feeling butterflies in her stomach.

"Texting was just fine. What's the need for a phone call?"

"You just came from an exhausting flight, yet you have the energy to scold me?"

"That's me being me, in case you forgot."

"I'm scared of you."

"I know that already."

"Remember it, then."

Emory laid in the floor of the empty apartment, analyzing the slur in Wonshik's speech.

"Are you drunk?" The silence answered for him. It was great that he was having fun. He desperately needed it.

"I'm happy for you, Wonshik-ah. Get some sleep."

 

Being bossy wasn't a thing that she enjoyed, but someone had to remind him that he was careless and should look out for himself too. Emory didn't mind being that person in his life. She felt responsible for it, not only with him but with her best friends too. The perks of being the mom friend.

The apartment felt too white, too empty. It smelt fresh, like paint and cement. Emory got up and bought a scented candle from the convenience store around the block. The scent masked the smell and feel of the apartment being brand new. She felt like she was walking around a magazine. Something needed to be done for that feeling to go away. It irked her, but she was too tired to care about how the place looked. Emory resolved on washing up, closing the blinds and going to bed.

~

Out of habit, Emory touched her wrist tattoo while walking to the school. She showed her nametag to the security guard who smiled gently at her. His smile was contagious, which eased her nervousness.

"Good morning, Emory."

Emory, who was on edge with her nerves, jumped muttering a _'carajo'_ under her breath. She stood straighter noticing that it was Hyun-soo who had interviewed her via video call.

"Hello, good morning," she greeted, stumbling with her words.

Hyun-soo smiled. "Talk comfortably. We're colleagues, after all," he replied in English.

"I'm not sure you'd be able to understand me if I talked comfortably." She knows that she talks very fast, excitedly and mixes her first languages often. It would just be confusing.

"That's gonna be useful for today's activity."

"Weren't we supposed to go straight for the intensive English course?"

Hyunsoo hummed. "That was the plan, actually. But today's the first time we're meeting at work, and the director wanted it to be fun."

 

What would their idea of fun be? Emory loved reading books, writing on her journal, relieving her stress through angry workouts--fuck. They were all at the gym sitting on the floor in a huge circle of people around her age. It felt reminiscent of her first years of college, running around with the student organizations.

 

"I love your hair!" A girl with an American accent and wavy hair exclaimed.

Emory pointed at herself, shocked. "Mine?"

"Yeah, it's awesome. I wish mine had a little more liveliness like yours."

 

Emory smiled and nodded if only she knew all the trouble she had to go through for the sake of making a good first impression.

 

"I'm Madeline, by the way. I'm an English teacher."

"I'm an English teacher too. My name's Emory."

 

The faculty members presented themselves after gathering around, telling what their jobs were, which grades they taught and where they came from. Greetings, awkward presentations and all its formalities later, the games began. They got divided into, and their teamwork was tested through nuances that had them all rolling their eyes. But they caved in, and even if they wouldn't be caught dead admitting it out loud, it was refreshing to be part of an unexpected field day for teachers.

 

"Wait up!" Madeline called. "I don't have your number."

After telling her what she wanted, Emory asked, "Where do you live?"

"Nearby," she said mysteriously before laughing. "I like you; let's be friends."

 

Emory nodded in return. This day had been something she had not planned at all. When she got home, she saw a pair of pricey sneakers by the front door.

 

"I'm home!" she announced, marveling at how domestic it sounded.

"Kitchen," Wonshik replied.

 

Her heart picked its pace, filling her body with warmth with the mere sound of his deep voice. She hadn't seen him since the concert, and that had been a little over a couple of months ago. When Wonshik came back from his vacation with Sanghyuk and their friends, he resumed his unattended business. That had been fine with her, it gave her time to work on decorating her place, which still wasn't complete but she could feel at home. Her life didn't revolve around him, and yet, she had to prepare to see him regularly from now on.

 

The things she felt for him still scared her. It was something unlikely to happen. Still, there she was, grinning at Wonshik stupidly. To make the situation even mushier, Wonshik smiled back, crossing the kitchen to embrace her tightly.

 

Emory was miles away from her family, from the land in which she had grown and developed a version of herself that made her proud. She was in a foreign country that was still odd to her. But she felt at home. Fucking shit. She pulled away. It wasn't what she felt, at that moment in his arms, no. It was a realization of how deep in this situation she was.

 

They needed to talk.

 

"I feel disgusting."

"Shower, then. What would you like to order in?"

"Anything is fine."

"Got it."

 

Twenty minutes later, Emory walked out of the bedroom in a hoodie and sweat pants feeling a bit lighter than earlier. Wonshik was sitting in front of the TV texting.

"Bin says congrats on the new place and job."

"I'm changing my key-code," Emory said without peering her eyes away from the TV.

Wonshik turned it off for her to pay attention to him.

"You can't do that."

"I can." Were they starting to fight because of something so stupid? He could knock on the door, like anybody else and she would let him in all the damn time.

"Where am I supposed to free my mind then?"

 

He was trying to prove a point. When he was with Emory, he forgot about his celebrity lifestyle and was more like the version of himself he wished to be. Wonshik shouldn't be putting it out there, just like that without any warning. But what was he supposed to do? He got scared of trivial things too. He got the right to be human with someone else who didn't look up to him just because he was Ravi of VIXX. Yes, he had dreamed of becoming a celebrity since he was a kid, but he deserved some human aspects in his life.

It felt like she was doing something right with her life. No matter if it was just being a rock in Wonshik's life and keeping him sane.

 

"What do you mean?" she wanted to dive into that guarded mind of his.

Wonshik broke the eye contact and fiddled with a rip of his jeans.

"At the studio, I work and work and work. At the dorms Hakyeon and Hongbin nag at me for being caged at the studio at my own will. When I'm in schedules, I have to wear a facade, being a professional idol that's unfazed by everyday life and emotions. With you, I don't feel obligated to live up to anything. You don't ask for anything but for my self-care..."

 

He looked at her, with those sincere eyes of him that couldn't hide what he was feeling.

 

"It keeps me going Em. If I didn't do this thing of doing anything in particular while I'm with you in my free time, I'd be lost. It's like breathing without actually breathing."

Emory grabbed Wonshik's hand, running the pad of her thumb against his knuckles and leaned her head on his shoulder. They were keeping it friendly yet intimate.

 

"I wasn't gonna change it, you know?"

"I know.”

But did he? What was the real meaning behind his words? To her, it felt like a straight-up confession orchestrated by a screenwriter. Then again, Wonshik had his way with words, which made him the talented producer he is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know I haven't posted in almost a year, but I have been busy with college and my job, and I just got caught up with being tired all the time. but I finally mustered the courage to check what I had written a while ago and showed it to my best friend and she told me that she loved it. I wish you guys enjoyed it as well and let me know in the comments how was it. 
> 
> lots of love, yehetter~


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